Impetus
by G.M.Portraepic
Summary: Caroline Forbes is the most powerful being on Earth – and the greatest weapon of destruction against supernaturals. Wielded by the most dangerous organisation of all time, Caroline is fated to tear everyone she loves from this world for good. Only one person can stop her: all Klaus Mikaelson has to do is remember her...and find her before it's too late. SEQUEL TO UBIQUITOUS.
1. Prologue

**IMPETUS**

* * *

 _Prologue_

* * *

 **"That world is ended, as if it had never been. Let the race of Adam and Eve take warning."  
** – C.S. Lewis

"A man once told me that darkness was a disease; not to be merely fought or overcome – but to be cut out. Otherwise you risk its return." Hands clasped behind his back, he turned – catching her gaze, holding it. "This is essentially a purification process. In order to cleanse this world of its disease, we must remove the darkness."

"The supernaturals."

"Precisely."

"And what if I refuse?"

The President's eyes shifted above her head, and he gave a subtle nod.

Heavy boots sounded behind Caroline, and a moment later a strong arm extended before her. Her gaze became fixed on the the small tablet screen.

" _Easy_ ," a general cautioned in a hard tone.

Her response had been instantaneous; all had borne witness to the incandescent glow of power budding in her fingertips – had _heard_ it.

Steeling the fury that threatened to expel from her body, Caroline took a slow breath through clenched teeth. It was so easy to lose control. And she _wanted_ to.

But they were innocent people.

 _No_ , she mentally corrected. They weren't innocent; they were the government – they lied, they manipulated, _threatened–_

But they were still _people_.

And she was _not_ a _murder_.

Not like _her._

"A push of a button," the President pronounced – the lightness of his tone confirming an emotional indifference with regards to what he was threatening. The message was clear; he would pull the trigger without blinking. And if not he, the hundreds – or thousands, Caroline couldn't be sure – in cooperation with him, would do just the same.

Caroline's throat tightened painfully, eyes burning with tears as she watched her mother and step-family move about their kitchen. Fear and fury brought her to her feet, trembling. "You don't even know the extent of my powers," she threatened, power snapping in her finger-tips. She was subconsciously aware of her irrationality, but so blinded by emotion that she couldn't check the words as they tumbled from her lips. "I could _kill_ you _all_ in an _instant._ " She didn't know how. "I'd be _very_ careful about how far you choose to push me. I haven't even _agreed_." She tilted her head to the side, steeling her rage into a cool reserve. "You even _try_ going after _my_ loved ones – let alone before we've even come to agreement? You'll have your _own_ families to worry about."

" _You_ even _try_ to do _that_ ," the President murmured coldly, evenly, "and when this is all ends – however it ends – you will have no family to go back to. Guaranteed."

The soldier with the tablet stepped away – and for a split second Caroline leant in his direction, after device, after the image of her family–

Until it was projected above the leaders' heads. A lens zeroed in on all four targets.

The rage returned – and this time she couldn't reign the surge of power. The lights overhead burst as the energy exploded from her being. Furniture hurled violently about the room. Men cursed and cried out as they were struck, injured–

She felt the sharp, piercing intrusions to her sides before she could fathom what they were. Syringes emptied a cocktail of drugs into her veins; similarly to how vervain had once affected her, the poison began to dull her senses and reflexes.

The commotion instantaneously died, and reinforcements burst through the door.

She hadn't killed anyone. A few bruises and flesh wounds. But not enough for them to retaliate against her loved ones.

A moment passed. Two.

She was right: no 'button' was pressed. Her mother continued to set the table, and her partner served the meal as the children scuttled around the kitchen. Everything in their perfect, normal life carried on undisrupted.

Caroline surmised no course of action was taken because they wouldn't risk losing their greatest leverage so soon. But also because they undoubtedly understood they'd provoked her too much – pushed her too far, too soon – when they still hadn't gained her cooperation. That had been the colossal mistake on their behalf.

She wanted to feel relieved that her outburst hadn't cost her anyone she loved – but her mind and body couldn't conjure the emotion, distorted with the aftermath of using intense power, and the rush of several depressants in her veins.

"Don't ever forget who has the resources, _witch_ ," the general snapped as his men surrounded her.

The President's gaze didn't waver from Caroline as two men came to her side at his command. "And don't ever make the mistake of underestimating us, Miss Forbes."

The soldiers clasped manacles around her wrists, and small rods on the metal interior pierced her skin, locking the device in place. Similar ones were attached above her ankles. As they settled against her limbs, she felt the draining sensation of her power being impeded.

The two men walked her to the vault's exit, where she was then book-ended by the remaining troops.

She paused, yanking the guards to a stop – but not flinching as all guns were trained on her. Turning slowly, features cold with revulsion, every cell in her body fought the onslaught of drowsiness, and she stood tall, determined. Interior searing with fury, she warned through her teeth with absolute conviction, foreboding:

" _Don't underestimate me."_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _So, I'm back! I know it's been a horrendously long wait for all of you Ubiquitous readers, I apologise – my life's taken a very big, positive (and busy) turn this year, and I just haven't had the time or inclination, really, to write. I've actually been on the bench for all fandoms all year, but I am picking up a little bit again now and will contribute to them when I can. I am a slow writer, as all of you are aware, but I will do my utmost to update as often as I can (real life does take absolute precedence, I'm sorry!). I can't wait to share this sequel with you though (it's been in the works for quite some time!), and I really hope you enjoy it! I'd love to hear from you if you have the time (it's been so long!) – so please sound off your thoughts in the box below, or even if you just want to say hi – my PM on here and ask on Tumblr are always open._

Much love, G xx


	2. Intimation

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, nor any of their names/characters/places previously established in their collective universe; they belong to The CW, WB Television and the creative minds associated with those companies. Everything else belongs to, and is copyrighted to me. I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for monetary gain. © GM Portraepic , 2016.**

 **A/N:** And we're officially back! Apologies for taking a millennium to come back to this fic (and writing in general) – it just never felt quite right when I tried to write it before, but I definitely got a story to tell now and can't wait to share it with you. Thank you to all those who have waited patiently and sent words of encouragement in my massive hiatus – it means the absolute world to me, this story is for you. **As always, feedback is much appreciated, as it motivates and inspires me to write – so don't read and run, please leave a review!**

Without further adieu – strap in, loves.

* * *

 **1\. Intimation**

* * *

He'd seen her. _Heard her._

At first, there were whispers.

Then her face – fragmented on occasion throughout his dreams. But then they became frequent. Clearer.

He could soon hear the agony in her words; hear the brokenness of her sobs. He could see the anguish and misery in her beautiful features; in the ceaseless stream of tears down her salt-stained cheeks – in her grief-stricken blue eyes. He could see the trembles wracking her body.

He could _feel_ her heartbreak.

Yet he didn't know what it meant.

He didn't know where she was, or what is happening; whether what he saw was supposed to be visions, dreams – or fabrications, concocted by his lonely heart and tired mind.

He didn't know _why_.

It had been a month since they'd separated, and every night – _every time_ he closed his eyes – she consumed him. It almost drove him to insanity in his waking hours. With each day, the dreams became more vivid; and each time, her pain engulfed him more profusely – affected him, as if it were his own.

Despite the crippling pain, however, he welcomed it; welcomed the visions, because he could _see_ her – be connected to her.

But tonight it was something else altogether.

No tears or agony.

Instead, a kaleidoscope of images, a vast array of sounds.

 _Cold walls, chilling drafts. Flaming torches on walls. Whispering air...hissing voices. The echo of shoes against pavement. He could see her – lean legs moving in great strides, heeled boots snapping against stone. She strode with a sense of determination and grace that he didn't recall about her. She seemed older, harder._

 _The two figures reached heavy, aged wood doors, locked by contraptions of old iron. She then reached out, and the doors flew open, like curtains moved by a gust of wind. Sparing a quick look over her shoulder, it was as if her eyes met his._

 _Hard, fierce and cold. But also alight with something else–_

Klaus awoke with a gasp, soaked in his own sweat, trembling.

It hadn't been a dream. _No–_

Much worse.

An inherent part of him knew that he was no longer experiencing what seemed like a fragmented memory.

What he'd seen hadn't happened yet.

 **– _I_ –**

 **Rome, Italy  
** _ **Three Months Later**_

There was something about the Vatican, in all its majesty and beauty, that sent a cold, crawling shiver down Caroline's spine.

Perhaps it was because part of her inherently knew that the answers they had been seeking for months lay within its walls – _beneath its foundations._ Or perhaps it was the tremendous attestation of wealth and power. In all of its religious glory, there was something almost...arrogant about it.

But she wasn't one to pass judgment when it came to power; not when she'd given into her own.

The daemon spied patrolling guards and advanced towards them. Despite the loud clicking of her heels, she did not raise any alarm: the men were now under her influence. The two patrollers turned towards the great building, and began walking – her oblivious guides.

Caroline wasn't righteous enough to deny the dark satisfaction of power anymore. She relished in the electric hum that coursed through her veins, as her abilities flexed. She was far more powerful now than she'd ever been – but she wasn't naïve enough as to think she had it under control.

As a result of being backed into a corner, her fear, rage and the pain of separation from her loved ones had caused her abilities to become dangerously volatile.

Which on any other day – not so good. That day, however?

Extremely helpful.

At that moment, her pocket vibrated and she withdrew her iPhone, scowling; Caroline knew who was on the other end of the line, without having to check the caller ID.

Ryan Costwald – the President's trusted 'messenger'.

"Yes?" Caroline responded curtly into the receiver; she didn't have the time or patience for his patriotic ass.

"Are you on course?" Ryan enquired coolly.

He even sounded arrogant on the phone.

 _Egotistical jerk._

"Acquired the keys and approaching," she brusquely informed, rounding a corner with her lapdogs. The guards trudged towards a heavy mahogany door, and Caroline checked her pace so she could finish the call.

"Are you sure about this?" Ryan's voice hardened. "All of your other great 'ideas' didn't check out, _princess_."

"What are your thoughts on castration, Ryan?" Caroline countered, voice laced with threat.

He gulped.

"Thought so," she reprimanded. "Don't patronize me ever again."

"Apologies." He paused, before repeating the question with some sensitivity. "Are you sure about this?"

"I've been following several-millennium-old bread crumbs for _four months_ ," she flung back. "So you tell your precious president _,_ that _I'm fucking sure_." She could practically hear him raising his hands in surrender – didn't stop him from asking more questions, however.

"What makes you certain the Vatican has them?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "We're talking about the most corrupt organisation of all time. Ergo, the very existence of secret archives – holding some of the greatest lost treasures and information _in the world –_ isn't just a conspiracy or a possibility, it's _absolute_. Keeping the _only_ remaining scrolls from Alexandria _in existence_ for themselves? Seems like something they'd do." Caroline bit her cheek, bitter. " _God forbid_ anyone finds out information that could shake the very foundation of humanity."

Ryan cleared his throat. "From your lingering hatred of 'faith', I'm suspecting you weren't an obedient Sunday school child?"

Caroline smirked. "I was a vampire, remember? And now a daemon – which means I'm 'technically' part 'god' anyway," she clarified, shaking her head. "Are you really so surprised that I'd question the validity of there being one 'white', bearded Lord that managed to pull a race, trees and everything else out of his ass?"

There was a cough – but Caroline was pretty sure it was a suppressed laugh. "Fair enough."

Much to her surprise, there wasn't another probing enquiry from Ryan, neither another sad attempt to flirt. Instead, a pause filled her ears – and then rustling.

"This could cause us a lot of trouble, Miss Forbes." A new voice.

 _His._

Caroline's eyes narrowed. "It's your job, right Mr. President?" she challenged. "Covering things up? You'll figure it out." She strode forward again, anger bleeding through her heavy steps. Caroline didn't care about red tape, or petty politics – not anymore. She was so close to being done with him – done with _all_ of this; she'd finally being able to go _home._ She was doing _their_ fucking dirty work; he could clean up the mess.

"You're taking on the oldest and most corrupt organisation of all time," the President responded. "Don't be impulsive, Miss Forbes. Much is at stake here."

"You don't think I'm aware?" Caroline's mouth gaped with disbelief."…What you're asking me to do? It's not going to come without ramifications. _You_ and the whole Consortium are about to tear thousands from their homes…tear apart their _livelihoods._ Consider a bit of drama from the religious community the least of your worries." Caroline let out a sharp breath. "Now do you want me to get those portals open or not?"

A longer silence rested between them, then – "We'll deal with any ramifications."

"Yes you will," the daemon resolved, hanging up and halting before the entrance. Addressing the men, she compelled them in Italian: _"Your shift has ended early. You will go home, and remember nothing of this, or me. Do you understand?"_ She stuffed a hundred euros in each of their jacket pockets.

Her transition from vampire to daemon meant any pre-established supernatural abilities had evolved, but she still saw any form of mind control as compulsion. The worst part of it, however, was that she was slowly losing her remorse. Rarely did she feel the familiar pang of guilt when she manipulated; when she took away their free-will, bending it to her needs. It was getting worse – she was colder, harder – and it scared her to no end.

"Do you understand?" she repeated.

" _Sí signora,"_ the men responded in unison to her commands, marching away.

Caroline extended her arms, palms facing the handle. Concentrating her energy, all locks snapped open within a second – and a moment later, she heard the fizzle of malfunctioning electricals. The door swung open.

The daemon went to step forward – but couldn't.

" _Seriously?"_ She muttered, pushing against the invisible barrier. Vampirism magic still lingered in her blood – it wasn't the first time it had caused complications, but it was easily fixed. She raised her hands once more, but a threat made her pause.

"Devils aren't welcome here," called a voice from within. "You will not enter."

Brows furrowing, Caroline straightened, arms dropping. "Well that isn't up to you."

A priest emerged. "This is _God's_ house – and I am servant of _Him._ You have not and nor shall you ever be invited in, _vampire."_ He was short – with an olive complexion, grey hair, and a lean, fragile frame. His face and hands bore the weather of time.

Caroline squared her shoulders, irritated. "I'm not a vampire," she corrected, catching his eyes.

" _Lies_ – this barrier is spelled against your kind, _demon."_

"By a _witch_?" Caroline picked, holding up an index finger mid-thought. "But…aren't witches servants of _Satan_?" She leaned forward, and he took a step back. "Isn't that why your people have mercilessly burned them at the stake for centuries?" Caroline paused for sarcastic effect. "And now you're _using_ them _._ I believe you'd call that heresy…or is it blasphemy? Or just plain old _hypocrisy_?" She shook her head, corner of her mouth tugging upwards wryly. "Forgive me, I didn't pay much attention in Sunday school."

The man had no verbal response – but his face was twisted in disgust. Deep down, Caroline knew that once upon a time, hers would have borne a similar reaction.

"Now…," she resumed, voice dropping, calm – even. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I do need you to step aside." He didn't respond, but she went ahead anyway. Power snapped between her fingertips in electrical currents, and it soon filled the air – white, glowing charges surrounding them, finding the door, and absorbing the spell. Invigorated with the sensation of assimilated power, she sighed and stepped over the threshold.

The man stumbled back. " _D-demon_!" he cried, eyes filled with pure fear. " _Demon! Mo-monster!"_

Her eyes caught his – and then she felt it. Her heart sunk, humanity tugging on her conscience. _How are you any different to_ her? She thought in dismay, and swallowed, throat thick. She held his gaze. "You're not afraid. It's okay," she murmured.

"I'm not afraid," he responded, trembles subsiding, fear slipping away from his eyes. "It's okay."

"I'm not an evil ' _demon'_ ," Caroline continued. "I was created to take all of the ' _demons'_ away from this world – to another one. And I need your help to do that." She took a step forward. "You can trust me."

"I can trust you."

"I need you to take me to your Council, it is of utmost importance."

He nodded. "I'll take you to The Council."

Caroline smiled ruefully as he turned on his heel, and led her through the foyer to a dimly lit doorway. They entered, moving down a wide hall lined by portraits of past men and women of importance to the church. She tried to shake the feeling of their cold, lifeless eyes piercing her back – but it was impossible to ignore; she knew it wasn't the imagined sensation of ghostly artworks watching her, but in actuality, the physical presence of their deceased subjects.

At the end of the hallway stood a grand door – but they didn't enter it, instead, veering right through a smaller archway, which led to a series of winding passage-ways, and ultimately a descent down a stone, circular staircase.

It was endless – nearly a hundred identical slabs of stone, leading them far into the depths of a secret society mankind had been oblivious to, for hundreds of years _(and still would be for many more to come)_.

They paused at a door sealed with an ancient bolt: the device appeared to be some sort of coded lock. When Caroline enquired why they hadn't updated, the priest rambled about the unreliable and dangerous nature of modern apparatuses. Their society wouldn't remain very 'secret' if people discovered its existence through a technological footprint, located it – and then hacked the code.

Every secret they had striven to hide for hundreds of years would be available to anyone.

Caroline couldn't argue; it made sense.

The door clicked open.

They entered a magnificent room: its floor was polished stone – the walls bore gold embellishments, and ornate torches. Caroline spied old ventilation systems in the floor, walls and roof, and the ornamented fireplace before them sported a chimney that disappeared through the floor above. The architecture was incredibly complex for its era – but she surmised that the equivalent of billions would have been invested in its establishment; through the ages, the church had always remained the wealthiest of all.

Standing there, the atmosphere felt almost anachronistic; Caroline felt as though she'd stepped back in time.

Proportionately placed around the room were elaborate, antique pieces of furniture: ornate armchairs, large settees and bookcases. The former two, decorated with embroidered tapestries in rich shades of red and gold, and the bookcases – rich wood, lined with lustrous metal. Before entering the establishment, she wouldn't have admitted it – but now, surrounded by its interior, Caroline was astounded by the sheer expanse and intricate detail of the Vatican's depths.

 _Has_ he _ever been here?_ She allowed her mind to drift for a brief moment – but the subsequent agony was too much, and it wandered too far.

 _Brilliant, soft blue eyes – boring into hers, into her soul – encouraging, loving. Giving her confidence._

Her hand flexed, aching for the embrace of his – for him to squeeze it supportively, for him to be by her side. Her cold exterior thawed, and she suddenly felt weak.

But her thoughts were cut off, and she shook her head. _The mission. Focus._

Another man of the church, fully robed, rose from an ancient marble table – which was cluttered with large volumes Caroline instantly knew to be centuries old.

"Miss Caroline Forbes?" he called, moving out from behind his post.

Caroline hesitated at the direct address, frowning. "Yes?"

He started towards yet another entryway.

"Follow me. We've been expecting you."

 **– _I_ –**

"Just one more–"

"Elijah no – hey! _No, no!"_ Katherine Pierce hopelessly reached for the camera, but her bulging belly impeded her efforts. Disgruntled, she ripped off the Santa hat and picked a shortbread off the nearby platter; it was her third trimester – stretch marks and cellulite be damned, she was eating as many fucking biscuits as she liked. She shoved it into her mouth and reached for another.

Her fiancé's shoulders drooped. "What are you worried about my love? You're incredibly photogenic–"

Katherine's mouth fell open mid-chew, astounded. "Like _this_?" She demanded, as she stuffed in another shortbread. She prodded her womb, and flung her arms out in dramatic emphasis of her size. "Argfaabaloofawhaw."

Elijah pressed his lips together, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "I did not quite catch all of that–"

Katherine scowled, swallowing. "I said I look like _a fucking beluga whale."_

Elijah – normally so renowned for his collectedness, his manners, his polite demeanor…couldn't help but break composure, and burst into laughter.

His fiancée didn't find it nearly as funny, however. She stormed away from the Christmas tree and made for the stairs – passing a bewildered Rebekah on her way.

"What did you say this time?" the younger Original sighed, hopping off the last step.

Elijah let out a heavy exhale, collecting himself once more. "One too many photographs I think?"

Rebekah cocked an eyebrow.

Elijah set down the camera, exhaling. "She was complaining about her size mid-mouthful and I laughed."

Rebekah stepped forward and clipped him on the back of the head. "She's nine months pregnant you twat."

Elijah sheepishly looked towards the staircase. "I'll go fix it."

"Yes you will." Rebekah pushed him in its direction. Rolling her eyes as he strode off (because bloody _men_ ), she made for the garage. Grabbing her parka off its hook, she got into her black _Porsche Panamera_ and quit The Compound.

It was a relatively short ride out to the Plantation House – but that was because most people had opted to avoid the unusually freezing atmosphere, and remain in their homes. She envied them; tucked inside their houses, surrounding a fire, surrounded by _family_ – happy.

They'd been _so_ close to it.

To having _it;_ the _family_ they had always wanted.

But then the glue that had held them together – that had _brought_ them back together in the first place – disappeared into thin air. All anyone knew, was that she and Klaus had broken up – but he had no real recollection of why. One moment, they were blissfully happy, and taking on the world together, and the next…the turbulent and irascible Klaus everyone knew too well had stumbled off the plane in New Orleans – alone.

In the beginning, he'd been angry and inconsolable; his paranoia and self-loathing returned. He 'tempered' his erratic emotions with days' long drunken binges and creating conflict wherever he could. His turbulent behavior drove most of the family away.

And then one night, at the end of the first, torturous month – what was left of the family, had woken up to find him gone too.

Klaus had removed himself from The Compound, and resided at the Plantation ever since. He hadn't been back into The Quarter. As far as everyone knew, he'd immersed himself in training his horses, painting and god knows what else.

Walking up the front steps upon her arrival, Rebekah let herself into the mansion without announcing herself; the property was extensive and on a secluded road – Klaus would have heard her approach.

Closing the door behind her, Rebekah flipped the hallway light on. "Niklaus?"

The house was freezing, and she noted sheets were draped over the furniture in every downstairs room she passed; even the library remained under covers, untouched. Running her finger along the bannister of the staircase, she picked up a thick layer of dust.

"What have you been doing, brother?" she wistfully sighed, gazing up at the circular staircase. She spied a faint glow cast from the floor above. Ascending slowly, she listened for any movement – and though she could hear nothing, she proceeded, drawn to the room. It wasn't his bedroom; the light wouldn't be visible from the bottom floor. Upon reaching the second floor, Rebekah found the door of his study to be ajar.

"Niklaus?"

She peered within.

And couldn't believe what she saw when she did.

Not Klaus – but pin-boards with maps, data and various indeterminable papers covering crowding every inch of the room. The desk was barely visible beneath various papers – and volumes lay open in a cluttered array.

" _What on earth_?" she breathed aloud, coming to stand before the closest board. It was a map of Germany, with circled locations in isolated parts of its geography, with attached photographs for each place. From what she could gather, they were suspected bases of some description. Beside that board, were more of the same likeness; Sweden and Norway; Scotland, England and Australia.

Each with images and detailed inscriptions scrawled in Klaus' script.

And coordinates.

However, there was startling difference between the European boards, and the next two – the U.S.A. and Canada. Both boards had various red crosses seemingly dismissing certain points. Frowning, Rebekah moved to the littered desk.

Countless records of flights taken internationally, accommodation – contacts.

"Intrigued?" called a voice from a door within the room – one which led to an adjoining library.

Rebekah whipped around to face the intruder.

An African-American man – late forties, impeccably dressed. _Warlock_ , Rebekah surmised, sensing a different energy about him.

"Who are you?" she demanded, eyes narrowing.

He approached her, extending a hand. "Douglas Walters," he introduced. "Retired C.I.A. agent – and long-time friend of your brother."

Rebekah grimaced in smile. "My brother doesn't have any friends. Besides, I don't think even the entirety of your lifetime counts as 'long-time'." She clasped his hand. "But given that you're a warlock, and that my brother has invited you into his home…" Her smile softened. "I'll settle with ally."

"Rebekah Mikaelson," the man responded.

"In the flesh," she confirmed – looking through the open door from which he'd just emerged. More pin-boards stood within – but they were cluttered with faces instead. Rebekah identified a few as world leaders.

She looked back to her new acquaintance. "What on earth is going on here?"

Douglas' mouth pressed into a line. "Investigative work."

"On what?"

Footsteps sounded at the door, and both looked towards it.

Klaus leant against its frame, arms folded across his chest. "The greatest conspiracy of all time."


	3. Disband

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait loves, but thank you so much for your support and patience in the meantime. Big thanks also to those who reviewed! As always, your feedback makes my day! Please continue to let me know what you think, it really does motivate me to write.

Happy reading chickas xx

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of TVD/TO's previously established characters, places or storylines. Everything else belongs to and is copyrighted to me. I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for monetary gain.

* * *

 **2\. Disband**

* * *

They were seated around a grand, circular table.

The ostentatious robes they wore swirled to the floor – the fabric as rich in hue as the palette of the proceeding room. Much like the rest of the institution, the regalia spoke of another era.

The scene before her – sans religious robes – almost reminded Caroline of King Arthur's Round Table. However, (with an inward grimace) she doubted equality had ever – _or would ever_ – exist within the Vatican.

"We've been waiting for you." A voice called – and at first she wasn't sure whom it had come from.

She proceeded with caution. "So I've heard," she responded warily, straightening. Instinctively – but without logical reason – she felt her powers thrum in her veins. She couldn't understand why she was on the physical defence; they were only human. "But if you were all aware of me coming," she posed, gesturing above, "why the fuss at the front door?"

"You would not have found your way here without Brother Nichols," one responded, rising. He was much older than the others – bent and frail, with white, wispy hair framing his ancient face. She was sure he was a bishop. Or something like it; she'd never paid attention in 'Religion' class in school anyway. "If it had been anyone other than yourself," he continued, "they wouldn't have been able to enter – nor influence the subject to do as they needed."

"So it was a test?" Caroline surmised flatly, unamused.

"Precisely."

"To see if I was worthy?"

"To see if you were _true._ "

Caroline cocked an eyebrow. "' _True'_?"

"If you are what you claim to be," he elaborated, moving towards her. "Your creation has been prophesied since the beginning of Christianity – even by _Him._ If you were _true_ – if you in fact existed; if you were the fabled _daemon_ – you would have succeed in gaining entry and influence of our subject, and finding us. You did; thus true, you are."

Caroline hesitated, dubious; distracted by preceding words. "Hold on…if I were in the _Bible_ , I think I'd know of it."

The man merely held her gaze – intense, heavy. "It never was. Throughout history, much has been withheld from written record, from–"

"– _Being shared_?" Caroline interjected. Her fingers curled into her palms. "Because people don't have the right to know something that could shake their faith in Christianity, _right_?"

"People aren't ready for the truth, Miss Forbes," he simply replied, but it was austere and laced with threat. In that moment, his eyes seemed darker – more sunken; haunted. Caroline felt as though he bore the weight of several hundred years in his response: it was an inherited burden; the secrecy.

But she couldn't pity him; though they preached of their way being the 'light', all who dedicated themselves to its doctrines, knew its inherent darkness. In choosing this life, they had made a conscious decision to remain within its depths.

"And that is up for you to decide?" the daemon challenged.

He didn't react. "You want to see the archives," he stated instead.

"Not the smokescreen you've created to sate the public," Caroline responded evenly, squaring her shoulders. " _Take me to the archives_."

He was unaffected by this demand – rather, offended by her lack of formal address. Caroline pretended not to notice. She didn't actually care.

"We expected as much," the bishop confirmed. "But know this, _daemon –_ it is at our behest. Thus, you see what we allow–"

"No," Caroline intercepted, tone hard and cold in kind. "I'll have complete access to whatever I desire, and you will not impede me."

When he nodded listlessly, a cold awareness pricked at the back of her neck. She could feel the eyes of the rest of the men piercing her, damning her like a demon – and her immediate instinct was fury, defence. _How dare they try and control her like a subordinate?_

But moments later, the feeling died.

With a start, she looked at every one of them – there faces were expressionless, fixated on her.

 _Compliance._

She had just used her power on every soul in the room.

Worst of all – without even thinking; it had been a mere emotional response.

Exhaling, Caroline eyed ominous doors on the opposite side of the expanse.

As if guided by spoken instruction (but in actuality, Caroline's gaze), the eldest – the bishop – turned, and moved towards it. Caroline proceeded.

– _**I –**_

"You've can't be serious!"

Klaus was unmoved by his sister's exclamation – nor her incredulous, questioning gaze. "Oh I am," he responded firmly. "Very much so.'

"Niklaus–"

"Rebekah–"

"It's not safe."

" _Not safe?"_ she blurted. "You just intimated that you had the power to expose the 'greatest' conspiracy of all time! And you're not going divulge? Not _one_ detail? I'm your _blood_ for crying out loud–"

"It's for that very reason that _I can't include you;_ the more you know, the more danger you put yourself and our family at risk." He strode to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking them lightly as he spoke. "I just need you to trust me. There will come a time, where I'll tell you – where I'll _need_ you, little sister–" he held her gaze, imploring – "b _ut not now_ – not when it could put our entire family in danger. I'm doing something important: that's all you need to know, that's all our family needs to know. I can't have any of you trying to contact me or track me down; one mistake like that, even an innocent one like you coming today...? It could put everything at risk."

"You don't have to do this all on your own–"

"Yes, I do. _"_ Klaus' final response was hard and irrevocable.

Rebekah's shoulders drooped in defeat beneath his hands.

"You've already been here too long." He moved away. "I love you, but you need to leave."

"What, a whole fifteen minutes?" Rebekah retorted, but her heart had already begun to throb more quickly. She hadn't been followed, if that was what he was worried about. _There wasn't anyone on the bloody road,_ she thought.

"You shouldn't have come," Douglas said quietly from the corner of the room. He'd moved to rearrange some files into a briefcase during the siblings' discussion, and now stepped forward. He looked to Klaus, gaze solemn. "I'll make preparations."

Klaus nodded with a graveness Rebekah didn't recognise.

Before she could open her mouth to pose another question, however, her phone trilled loudly in her pocket. Exhaling sharply, her eyes scanned its screen and her brows furrowed. She brought it to her ear. "Elijah?"

" _I-it's Katerina._ "

He was panicked; Rebekah immediately became so too. From across the room, Klaus' eyes caught hers, clouded with worry; he'd heard.

 _"S-she's gone into labour, but there's been a prolapse of the umbilical…umbilical cord…umbilical cord prolapse,"_ he panted, voice strained and thick with emotion. It was the first time in her life that Rebekah had heard him in such emotional distress. He was truly afraid, and her heart ached in sympathy. _"The child's heart-rate is dangerously weak and it is showing much distress…they're going to do an emergency caesarean but Katerina–"_ he broke off, overcome. _"Katerina can't…it is either one or the other…one of them will not–"_

"Brother, breathe," Rebekah soothed, despite her own fears. "We will be there as soon as we can – go be with her." She departed the study in a blur, stopping at the front door downstairs. "We won't be long, I promise." She turned to see Klaus within arm's reach behind her. "Be strong. We love you."

"I love you too," he choked. The line cut.

Rebekah's hand dropped, her eyes holding Klaus' – but confusion and anger flared in her chest when she detected hesitation in his gaze. "You _are_ coming, aren't you?" she demanded, jaw dropping. When he didn't respond, she pressed incredulously, " _Niklaus our brother needs us_ , don't you dare do this to him!"

At that moment footsteps sounded, descending the stairs. Douglas strode towards them, cases in his grasp. "Marco is waiting," he announced, directed at Klaus.

The hybrid nodded solemnly.

Rebekah grabbed her brother's arm fiercely. "You're wouldn't!" she gasped, dismayed.

"Bekah, I was _supposed_ to be leaving," Klaus confirmed quietly. "But–"

"You can't do that to Elijah – he could _lose_ Katherine, or his child," his sister interrupted him, eyes filling with betrayal and disgust. "Our _family_ –"

"I know!" he growled.

Rebekah's lips thinned, emanating fury. " _She_ left us. For whatever reason, _she_ _fucked off_. Don't you dare _abandon_ your family like _she_ did!"

Triggered, Klaus snapped; his features coloured with rage. "Don't _you_ _dare_ –"

"How dare _I?_ How dare _you–"_

" _For fuck sakes',_ " he interrupted coolly. _"_ I said I _was supposed_ to be leaving _–_ not that I was _going to_." His eyes were hard, hurt. "Now get in the fucking car so we don't break our promise." He strode angrily past her. "Douglas," he called over his shoulder, "follow."

Stunned, Rebekah blurred to her car. Klaus was already in the driver seat.

"Which hospital?" he asked.

"St. Bernard." Rebekah had been there for one of Katherine's appointments when Elijah had been away on business. Then, though she had admittedly felt envious as the mother-to-be had gazed at her ultrasound, Rebekah had also been overcome with an instantaneous surge of protectiveness. Not only were they family, but this child was a gift; something her brother had always inherently needed. She'd be damned if he lost his chance at true happiness.

At this thought, Rebekah's breath hitched in her throat. If Elijah lost Katherine – or their child – it would destroy him.

Pulled from her thoughts, Rebekah started when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.

Klaus squeezed her arm gently. "They're going to be okay," he murmured.

She swallowed a lump, and attempted an optimistic smile. It resulted in an unsettled grimace. "Of course they will be."

"We all will be," Klaus whispered – almost too quietly, like an afterthought.

Rebekah furrowed a brow, but held back a response – his jaw was squared, tense; his eyes staring ahead, undeterred. He was worrying about something – but Rebekah didn't have the capacity in that moment to worry for him too. She leant into her seat and withdrew her phone – only to be greeted by a screen full of group-messages from family members. Marcel was on his way, and Davina promised to be to be there after the birth. The rest sent 'best wishes'.

Her eyes filled, and she shut them to avoid spillage. She needed to be strong.

The near-silent breath of the heater. The clicking and tapping of gravel and pebbles hitting the underside of the car. The thrum of Klaus fingers as they subtly rapped against the wheel with impatience. Moments passed, or minutes – but when she opened them, they were still coursing down an empty road, tearing up gravel in their wake.

 _Empty?_ Rebekah frowned, craning her neck behind them. No car followed. "Where's Douglas?"

Klaus' eyes flickered to the revision mirror and side-mirrors. Despite the clouds of dust swirling behind them, faint headlights should have been visible. Douglas hadn't needed to do anything else but lock the front door after him; he should have been tailing them closely. The hybrid instantly knew something had gone horribly wrong.

"No stress; he shouldn't be far from leaving The Plantation," Klaus responded aloud instead, feigning nonchalance.

But it was in vain.

Because the danger he had instantly suspected came upon them swiftly and with little warning. At first it sounded in the distance as if it were headed anywhere – its blades faintly ploughing through air, powering towards the city. But then it closed the distance between them, almost before they had a chance to react.

"Hold on!" Klaus barked, violently jerking the wheel to his left and swerving them off the road – straight through a fence, splinters and thick shards of wooden planks flying in all directions. A small stretch of field lay before them, and a wall of forest.

The shots sounded the moment he made the manoeuvrer. They cut ferociously through air, striking the body of the vehicle, shattering its glass.

" _Nik what's going on?"_ Rebekah cried, gripping the sides of her seat, snatching a glance over her shoulder. Her stomach dropped.

It wasn't just any helicopter. It was military.

"It's too late," he shouted, eyes meeting hers briefly with desperation. "Whatever happens, _you get out._ You get to our brother, you all disappear. Do you understand?"

"I understand Nik," Rebekah rasped, eyes spilling.

Klaus' eyes met hers, full of regret and despair.

And then he yanked the wheel.

The car left the ground, tumbling – propelling towards the tree-line. The vehicle's metal groaned and screeched as it bent with each somersault. Inside, its passengers were thrown like rag dolls; jagged aluminium meeting flesh, glass embedding in skin.

The car came to an abrupt, violent halt – colliding with a tree.

Vision blurred as she fought unconsciousness, Rebekah looked to her brother. Klaus hung over the wheel, shards of the windscreen protruding from his face, blood soaking his hair, clothes. He was already healing, but out cold. Freeing herself of her seatbelt, she reached for him, ignoring the shocks of pain from a broken arm – ignoring the ooze of fluid from a metal stake to her stomach, or the bone that protruded from her right leg. She could feel herself healing too – but not fast enough. She released Klaus' seatbelt, and bit her arm – holding it to his mouth. Her blood spilled past his lips – and within a moment, he awoke.

Rebekah's eyes darted behind them. The helicopter had seemingly ceased its fire during their crash – but it had now lowered, near to the ground – on the a slow, terrifying approach; two missiles lowered from its belly. Panicked, she tried to pull her leg from the crushed glovebox. " _Nik_?" Though she'd been a vampire for a millennium, she'd never been more terrified. Though only a white-oak stake could kill them, she didn't doubt a weapon designed to destroy entire bases, buildings and machines, could incapacitate them to the point where they'd be easy to capture.

"Nik my leg is broken," she wheezed, eyes darting behind them. "I can't kick my door."

Klaus snapped into action. He placed his feet against the mangled driver's door and rammed his legs against it, clearing it – stumbling out. He blurred the passenger side and ripped it away, pulling Rebekah free.

And just as he did, the first weapon was fired.

Klaus took a hold of his sister and fled. Slowed by the weight of a person in his arms, they copped the edge of the explosion; any human within the helicopter would have mistaken them as being caught in it, due to the sensory lag in their vision.

The two Originals were soon far within the depths of a wilderness, and after several minutes, Klaus came to a halt at a shack by a bayou, setting Rebekah down on its verandah.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Rebekah snapped, eyes wild with fear. "Who were they?"

"The danger I was talking about."

"Nik, come on."

Klaus sighed. "The government – or worse." He knelt by her. He pulled the glass from her abdomen and pushed her bone back into her leg, then offered her his wrist. "They must have had someone tailing you when you came to see me." Rebekah finished replenishing, fangs retracting. Klaus stood.

"That's ridiculous; no car followed me there–"

"They wouldn't have needed to; your cell phone would have been enough."

Rebekah paused, realising. "Is that why you hadn't to us returned since that day? Why you severed all contact? So they couldn't track you?"

"I have been cloaked by Davina for months – or, rather the Plantation House was. The government couldn't track me if they tried; technically, I didn't exist." He straightened, extracting vehicle debris from his own body. "As hard as it would be for them to believe, we're still impervious to _some_ of their tricks," he explained. "Prior to my departure from New Orleans, I hadn't shown the slightest hint of conspiratorial behaviour; they had no reason to watch me too intently, and the moment they chose to – I was off the radar anyway," he explained. "But since it was evident that I hadn't had any contact with Caroline anyway, they had no reason to track me. However, I knew once we started delving into the truth that it was only a matter of time before they started to worry; despite using encrypted devices, we would still leave some form of technological footprint that their best hacker could detect. But they couldn't _see_ us; magic wouldn't allow it. Ergo, they would resort to tracking all of you instead."

"So if you'd sent us a message–"

"They could have tracked me through it."

"Oh." Rebekah realised, nodding. She was now fully healed – weak, but now able to run on her own. "But what about Douglas?"

"I found him through Davina before I left the Quarter; the government can't 'track' magic," he explained, helping his sister to her feet. "But never you mind about all that now–" he broke off, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Do you remember what I said before?"

She nodded.

"Go and find them, and get them as far away from here as you can," he ordered."Europe – in the Alps, somewhere secluded. Or Australia. False passports, identities; no trace."

Rebekah nodded tearily and went to take off – but she quickly paused, distraught. "When will we see you again?"

"When all of this is over." He pulled her in for a hug, arms tightening around her. It could be months, or longer; he didn't want to contemplate that, though. "Now _go,"_ he begged.

She took flight.

Klaus made for the Plantation. As he reached its boundary where the homestead was visible, his worst fears were confirmed.

Douglas' body lay slumped on the ground by the Range Rover – and an array of vehicles crowded the circular driveway, agents swarming the premises.

Rage poured through Klaus' veins, his vision blurred with fury.

He needed to finish what they had started.

He couldn't leave without the coordinates – or without any of their work.

Klaus' venom burned hotly in his cheeks, veins rising; his teeth emerged, grazing his bottom lip.

He sprung forward.


End file.
